


wherever you go (i'll be there)

by arabmorgan



Category: Produce 101 (TV), Wanna One (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Magic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-23
Updated: 2018-10-23
Packaged: 2019-08-05 21:49:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16375616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arabmorgan/pseuds/arabmorgan
Summary: There is an old Chinese saying that preaches, 'misfortune may be a blessing in disguise' — but when Jisung falls and injures himself badly enough to get pulled out of Wanna One's world tour, he can't imagine anything good coming out ofthat.Well, he's wrong.





	wherever you go (i'll be there)

**ONE,**

Most days Jisung still can’t quite believe that there are hundreds, possibly even _thousands_ of people who know his name. It is utterly surreal, almost a very pleasant slap to the face, to be met with the sound of screaming as he steps out of the car with what is probably an unattractively wide yawn.

Daniel follows him out, looking far more awake than Jisung feels, and the screams intensify in both volume and pitch. Holding back a smirk of amusement at the momentary widening of Daniel’s eyes, Jisung gives a small wave and a tired smile, neck lolling slightly against the neck pillow still fitted snugly over his shoulders as they wait for their manager to clear a safe path to the entrance.

“Let’s go, Niel,” Jisung says softly, waiting for the younger man to start moving before he falls into step half a pace behind. The fans start to squeal as they walk past, but by and large the group of girls keep a short distance away, shuffling in place and letting out tiny gasps of excitement.

A sudden flash of movement to his left startles Jisung, and he flinches minutely before he can stop himself. He barely manages to catch a glimpse of a petite figure dressed in pastel hurrying in his direction, before something bright is pushed towards him and his hands fly up instinctively to receive it.

“He’ll watch over you, oppa! Fighting!” the girl says sweetly, even as Jisung looks down with wide eyes at the orange fox plushie sitting in his arms, its angled eyes staring up at him in what looks a lot like amusement.

“Thank you,” he starts to say as he raises his head, but the girl is already gone. Jisung looks around in open bewilderment, but it takes only seconds more before they find themselves safely ensconced within the air-conditioned building, out of sight of the disappointed fans who have been left behind.

“Hey, where did you get that?” A huge smile spreads on Daniel’s face the moment he catches sight of the new addition to their little party, and he immediately reaches out to tug lightly at the fox’s large triangular ears. Jisung huffs and pretends to pull the plushie out of reach, only to bump into their frazzled-looking manager.

“What is that?” the man asks suspiciously, eyeing the large toy like it might come alive and snap at him at any moment.

Jisung hesitates, darting a glance downwards before sighing, “A fan gave it to me just now.” His grip tightens on the fox even though he knows exactly what is coming next.

“Amazing what these fans can manage to pull off,” the manager snorts, as he proceeds to pull the fox away and tuck it under his own arm. “You know the drill – we don’t want any spy cameras livestreaming you jerking off on your bed at night.”

Jisung flushes, garbled protests falling from his lips even as Daniel turns away with a choked off laugh.

“Can I have it back later?” he whines anyway. “It’s my first ever gift from a fan.”

The older man raises a stern brow, but the gaze beneath it softens. “Only if it passes the security check,” he relents at last, before shooing the two of them off to the concept evaluation rehearsal with an impatient gesture. He’s humming Show Time under his breath as he walks away, and Jisung beams at the slightly off-tune rendition.

.

.

.

There is an orange fox plushie sitting on Jisung’s seat in the van when it comes by again to pick them up after the rehearsal. It’s the dead of night, but Jisung’s heavy-lidded gaze flies wide open at the sight anyway, an excited squeal leaving his lips as his fists clench in anticipation.

“Niel, look, it’s my fox!” he says excitedly, swooping forward to scoop the plushie up in a tight embrace. “I guess it really was just an innocent gift from a fan after all, aren’t you?” He coos down at the softly smiling toy, before waving it in Daniel’s pouting face.

“My first fan gift!” Jisung repeats, and the words only seem to hit him properly after a moment, his expression quieting as he looks down at the plushie sitting in his lap. His thumb strokes along the soft fur on its cheek absently as he tries to come to terms with the fact that he actually has _fans_. The realisation is humbling in its immensity, and it only takes another second for Daniel to realise that Jisung has fallen oddly silent.

“You’re not going to cry over a toy, are you, hyung?” Daniel groans, torn between amusement and despair, but it’s too late.

It is the start of Jisung’s love affair with the plushie he eventually comes to fondly christen Mister Fox. He cuddles it to sleep every night, hugged loosely to his chest with its face pressed to his neck, although it inevitably ends up half-squashed beneath his body in the morning. When they return to the Produce 101 dorms to practice for the final debut evaluation performances, Mister Fox comes along as well, placed neatly on Jisung’s pillow each morning to wait for his return.

It follows Jisung to Wanna One’s first dorm, still slightly damp from its owner’s endless tears the previous night, and again when they move to their newer, larger home the following year.

“Tell us something about the member next to you that the fans don’t know,” one interviewer says with a bright smile, and Jisung wonders what ludicrous truth Jaehwan will come up with for him this time.

“Jisung hyung…” Jaehwan starts, turning to stare contemplatively at the older man, before a soft ‘ah’ escapes his lips. “Jisung hyung – he has a toy fox that he brings everywhere with him. I’m sure everyone’s seen Mister Fox around at the airport or hanging out of Jisung hyung’s bag. It’s actually the first present he ever got from a fan, and he totally cried when he got it.” Jaehwan ends off with a triumphant grin, accompanied by Jisung’s groan of embarrassment.

“That was the first time I realised that I had fans standing beside me too,” Jisung confesses, his eyes curving into soft half-moons at the memory. “Every time I hold him I feel safe, because the fan who gave him to me said that Mister Fox would watch over me. He also reminds me that I have to work hard to repay my fans, who are always tirelessly cheering for me.”

“I think Mister Fox must be the most well-travelled plushie ever,” Woojin pipes up from Jisung’s other side with a grin. “He’s been with us to all our overseas fan meetings, and we’ll be starting our world tour soon. Please watch out for our eleventh member, Mister Fox!”

Jisung smacks Woojin’s thigh with a huff, and everyone promptly bursts into laughter.

* * *

**TWO,**

Jisung never does make it to any of Wanna One’s world tour stops outside of Seoul, and neither does Mister Fox. A single late-night practice and a single wrong landing is enough to see to that.

The _pop_ of his knee in the quiet of the practice room is enough to send Guanlin whipping around fast enough to see Jisung sink to the floor with a breathless “ _oof_ ”. It actually doesn’t hurt all that much, not at first, and the terrifyingly sharp sound is still echoing in his ears when the pain decides to hit, fiery and acute.

The situation really couldn’t be worse – just him and Guanlin alone in the practice room near midnight – and now he’s gone and gotten himself injured in the most pathetic way possible. Jisung turns as far as he can, mouth twitching upwards into a terrible parody of a reassuring smile when his gaze meets the maknae’s.

“Lin,” he somehow manages to grit out, holding a low moan back behind his teeth as he squeezes his eyes tight shut. “Lin, call manager-hyung please. Now.”

“Yes, hyung.” Guanlin’s voice comes out in a hoarse whisper, but he immediately scurries for his phone, his fingers rough and fumbling as he scrolls through his contacts.

A torn ACL, they tell his manager at the hospital as they look down at his knee, horribly swollen to what looks like practically twice its size. Probably requiring surgery if he ever wants to dance again, they add, with another sympathetic glance in Jisung’s direction, as if he’s not in the room with them or just plain deaf. At least six months of rehab, if not more.

That last statement makes Jisung feel light-headed. _Six_ months of rehab, when he has barely that long left with Wanna One?

He holds the tears in until they’re on the way back to the dorm, and then he abruptly bursts into noisy sobs in the passenger seat, probably much to the chagrin of his subdued manager.

“Jisung-ah,” the man sighs after a moment, and Jisung lets out a watery sniffle in response. “You have to think about whether you want the surgery, okay? You don’t have to decide right now. The doctor said they can’t schedule it for another month anyway, so – but you have to decide. It’s your choice. If you want to speak to the doctor again, I’ll arrange for another meeting.”

The realisation that they’re not going to _make_ him go for the surgery hits Jisung hard. It really doesn’t come as a surprise that they don’t actually care about him, but it hurts all the same. Of course, he has no doubt that their manager cares on a personal level, but in six months, he’ll no longer be Swing’s responsibility. MMO too might be making money off him now, but again, in six months, he’ll probably have to enlist, and then he’ll be out of their hair for two years.

There’s no one looking out for him but himself, and Jisung finds that thought immensely lonely.

The rest of the members are still awake and waiting when he finally gets home, pushed along in a wheelchair with his bum leg extended awkwardly before him. Their faces are taut with fear and anxiety, and Jisung feels yet another wave of tears begin to prickle at his eyes at the sight of these boys he’s come to love so much.

“Do any of you know what time it is?” he demands instead, smacking reprovingly at whatever hands and other body parts he can manage to reach from his seated position. “All of you should have been in bed hours ago. I’m perfectly _fine_.” All the same, he accepts the hugs forced onto him by the younger members, allowing his eyes to fall shut as he pats at their hair and feels them nuzzling hard against him, shaken to see their leader so badly injured.

He meets Sungwoon’s eyes over Daehwi’s head and offers a small smile that the redhead doesn’t return, although he does place a hand on Jisung’s shoulder for a brief moment, giving a light squeeze before raising his voice and helping to chase everyone back to their own bedrooms like an angry, yapping pup.

Jisung has never been more grateful to have a room to himself than that night. Exhaustion crashes over him the moment he struggles out of the wheelchair and onto his bed, and he barely manages to pop his pills before collapsing on the mattress, still some distance away from where Mister Fox is seated on his pillow, watching him with curious eyes.

He doesn’t try to stop the soft groan that slips out as he drags himself upwards a foot or two, and his forehead is beaded with sweat by the time he collapses face down onto his pillow, Mister Fox crushed unceremoniously beneath one arm.

_Tomorrow_ , Jisung thinks. He’ll figure everything out tomorrow.

.

.

.

Wanna One leaves for America two days later, sans their leader.

An official statement has already been released, explaining Jisung’s unfortunate accident during practice and, more importantly, the fact that he will be out of commission for the entirety of the world tour. _He may rejoin Korean group activities in September if he is sufficiently recovered_ is where Jisung stops reading and throws himself back onto his bed with a sigh.

His schedule has been completely cleared except for his physical therapy sessions twice a week, and he’s pretty sure that it’s the cruellest form of irony that has ever befallen him. How many times has he wished for a break, just to take a breather, even if only for a day or two? Well, the universe has answered his prayers far more abundantly than he has ever dared to hope for now.

“I’m a mess. My life is a mess,” he mumbles to himself, frowning as he turns Mister Fox to face him. “If I don’t go for the surgery, I won’t be able to dance again. If I do – I mean, what’s the point? Am I really going to debut again after Wanna One?” He sighs again, more slowly this time, and rolls over so that he can bury his face in Mister Fox’s soft stomach.

It’s three in the afternoon, but Jisung falls asleep right there and then anyway, a combination of painkillers, sadness and sheer boredom.

When he wakes, hours later, his first thought is that it is so uncomfortably warm the air-conditioning must have given up on him, much like the rest of his life in general. His second is that his neck hurts, almost more than his ruined knee. His third thought is a gradual realisation – that whatever is beneath him seems far more likely to be a _who_ ever instead.

With a strangled screech, Jisung heaves himself off the bare chest his cheek is pressed stickily against, only coming to a halt when his knee protests loudly at his sudden movement. Pain flashes white across his vision, and he doubles over with a choked gasp.

The stranger seems equally alarmed by his sudden reaction, and the man sits up with a start, one hand reaching out to grab hold of Jisung’s arm before he can overbalance and topple right off the bed.

“Are you okay?” The voice in Jisung’s ears is light, soothing – but also utterly unfamiliar.

“I’m _fine_ ,” he wheezes, in what is coming to be a too-common refrain for him when he is anything but. “How did you even get in here? Who _are_ you?”

Shaking his head to clear the spots from his vision, Jisung squints up at what may very well be an actual angel descended from heaven. Dark, angled eyes sit atop a beautifully aristocratic nose, the bow of his lips sweetly pronounced in a way that Jisung might find terribly distracting if not for the fact that he has just, unfortunately, discovered that his unknown visitor is thoroughly nude.

“Why are you _naked_?” he shrieks, this close to bursting into tears if only because he has no means of escaping from this possibly insane intruder right next to him.

“I….well –” The man half-opens his mouth as if to make some excuse for his nudity, before deciding that the better option would just be to walk over to Jisung’s closet and pick out a pair of shorts that might actually fit him. He flashes a fair amount of ass on the way over, and Jisung closes his eyes with a muffled groan of horror.

Even with the kids gone, he just can’t have a single moment of peace, can he?

“Underwear is in the top drawer,” he says faintly. “Please don’t wear my shorts without underwear.”

Once his junk is safely out of sight, the stranger returns to his seat on the bed, albeit a cautious distance away from Jisung this time, his gaze scrutinising the idol’s expression with concern. “I know this is weird,” he says carefully, as if he thinks Jisung might run screaming for the hills if he talks a little too loudly, “but you already know me. I’m Minhyun. I’m your watcher.”

Jisung blinks at that, a cold shiver crawling its way down his spine. “My watcher?” he repeats, suddenly wishing that he had thought to look around for his phone while this Minhyun person had been raiding his closet. “As in, you’ve been watching me? In secret?”

Minhyun lets out a sudden laugh, eyes curving into the cheeriest crescents Jisung has ever seen. “Watching _over_ you,” he corrects, and his smile as he watches Jisung is just this side of sly, like there’s something blatantly obvious that he’s missing. “You usually call me –”

Something about the phrase niggles at Jisung’s mind, and the answer hits him with startling speed even though it is completely impossible. “ _Mister Fox_ ,” he breathes, in tandem with Minhyun, and one glance to the side is enough to tell him that his adored plushie has indeed vanished into thin air.

“This doesn’t make any sense,” he splutters, peeking over the side of his bed just in case Mister Fox might have taken a tumble to the floor. “You can’t be Mister Fox. I mean, you can’t be a stuffed toy. It’s just impossible. That would be – I don’t know, _magic_ or something.”

He turns back to Minhyun, who only raises a brow at Jisung’s befuddled expression. “But I am,” he protests mildly, lower lip jutting out into a pout – and the unnerving thing is that Jisung can actually see it. He can see Mister Fox’s sharp eyes and even sharper grin in Minhyun’s delicately-carved features, accompanied by a nose that almost seems to precede the rest of his face with its elegance.

“Then why are you only appearing now? Why not before?” he sighs, abruptly tired. He tries to shift, to get his leg into a more comfortable position instead of having it jut out awkwardly to the side, but he doesn’t exactly want to do it too conspicuously in front of Minhyun either.

Minhyun hesitates, his eyes darting down to Jisung’s cast-encased leg, clearly catching the small movement and not knowing what to do about it. “It felt like you really needed someone by your side today,” he says simply, and Jisung feels something thick catch in his throat at that. _I’m fine_ , he wants to say, but this time the words won’t come out as easily, and he lowers his head, shoulders shaking slightly.

He feels the bed dip when Minhyun moves, scooting over so that he can tug Jisung into a light embrace. Stranger or not, Jisung lets himself fall against Minhyun’s chest, curling slightly into the taller man’s hold. Minhyun’s bare skin is warm against his cheek, his scent an oddly comforting, very non-human mustiness exactly like that of Mister Fox’s, and it is probably that which breaks down the rest of Jisung’s barriers.

“I’m tired,” he whispers, and it feels as if something in his chest flutters free at that, a thought that he has kept locked away for years and years. “I’m so tired, Minhyun. I’m tired and scared and I just – I don’t know what to do. About anything.” Once he starts, he can’t stop. The words flow out of him, easier and easier, things he’s never once thought about saying to any one of his members, not even Daniel. Especially not Daniel, who already carries so much weight on his shoulders.

Minhyun hums, soft and soothing as his chin presses down on the top of Jisung’s head. “You should take your time to make your choice, but once you have, don’t change it,” he says, perfectly matter-of-fact in a way that is terribly difficult to rebut.

“You sound like a fortune cookie,” is what Jisung ends up saying with a raspy-sounding chuckle, but he feels better already, simply by virtue of having spilled out the thoughts that have been weighing him down.

He exhales slowly, probably breathing a whole lot of warm air out onto Minhyun’s bare chest, and allows himself to wonder out loud, “So if you’re really Mister Fox, then that fan who gave you to me –”

“A witch, yes,” Minhyun answers, and he sounds like he’s smiling. “I’d say I’m glad to finally meet you properly, but considering I’m bewitched to transform only when you’re in desperate need of emotional support, that doesn’t seem quite appropriate.” He presses a gentle kiss to the side of Jisung’s head anyway, startling the other man slightly.

“How long will you stay?” Jisung asks, and he is a little afraid to hear the answer. It’s barely been half an hour since his minor freak-out over Minhyun’s unexpected appearance, but already their uncommon proximity is passing as barely a blip on his personal space radar. Something about Minhyun feels comfortable, familiar – an attentive presence that has accompanied Jisung for a long time unnoticed.

“Like this, in this form?” Minhyun shifts slightly, thoughtfully. “As long as you need me, I’ll be here.”

Well, that’s…fine, Jisung thinks. Maybe even more than fine.

.

.

.

“Yes, I can manage,” Jisung says patiently for what feels like the fourth time at least, in response to the disbelieving staff on the other end of the line. “It’s not like I’m going to be leaving the house. At least I can occupy myself all day and exercise my leg by doing chores or something. If I really need anything, or if I’m running out of groceries, I’ll call you – right away, I promise.”

Leaning back, he smacks Minhyun’s hand away from the phone as the other man wanders past him, dressed in one of Daniel’s shirts and a pair of sweatpants that Jisung highly suspects has been pilfered from Seongwoo’s drawers.

Finally, the staff grudgingly hangs up, and Jisung breathes out a sigh of relief. “You have no idea how hard it was to get them to stop dropping by every day just to check that I’m not dead,” he groans, running a hand over his face. “I can barely walk and they’re acting like I’m going to run off the moment they turn their backs.”

“Well, are you?” Minhyun asks, from where he’s taken a seat on the couch. He looks both eager and amused, an odd combination on a face that Jisung has come to think of as regal.

“Of course not,” he grumbles, “but I can’t have them dropping by and finding _you_ either, can I? What would I tell them?” Jisung shakes his head slightly until the dry strands of his fringe brush to the side and out of his eyes. He is still unused to the sight of faded pink in his peripheral vision, a dye job gone to waste.

Minhyun shrugs, blinking wordlessly at Jisung in that unnerving way he has. It’s not exactly an intense stare but a softer, fonder gaze instead, like he’s watching a beloved friend experience a particularly momentous occasion – except in this case Jisung is simply sitting there quite unremarkably with a phone in his hand.

“The kids said they would call me after the concert,” Jisung says after a moment, sounding vaguely fretful at the thought. “They’re probably not back at the hotel yet.” He shifts, looking away so that Minhyun’s still form disappears completely from his line of sight, one hand massaging absently at the area right above his dully throbbing knee.

The dip of the seat beside him alerts him that Minhyun has moved, as quick and almost as silent as a cat. The next moment, Minhyun is obnoxiously resting most of his weight against Jisung’s back, one hand snaking forward to settle over Jisung’s, halting his repetitive rubbing.

“You’re making your skin all red,” Minhyun observes, with an almost accusing tone to his voice, and Jisung chuckles at that. Sliding sideways, Minhyun slumps down so that he is lying parallel to Jisung’s leg, sliding his palm against Jisung’s with far too much fascination in his eyes for such a simple motion.

The simplicity of Minhyun’s contentment makes Jisung feel strangely indulgent. His leg still hurts, a constant reminder of the fragility of his career, and he misses his members’ boisterous presence with a fierceness that surprises even himself, but as Minhyun turns his hand back and forth, before lacing their fingers together and then letting go, those things are easy to put aside, to push to the back of his mind to be unearthed again another day.

“Your hands are rather…small,” is all Jisung says to break the silence, with the slightest hint of surprise in his voice.

Minhyun raises a brow and blinks. “Maybe yours are just big,” he retorts, scrunching his nose defiantly in Jisung’s direction and earning a startled snort from the other man.

They both jump when Jisung’s phone chimes cheerily, announcing an incoming video call. Minhyun watches the way Jisung’s face lights up with joy, his fingers loosening even as Jisung pulls free to snatch his phone up. It illuminates him, this anticipation transformed into happiness, and Minhyun slowly comes to realise that he now knows exactly what his favourite sight in the world is.

.

.

.

“What do you mean you can’t eat?” Jisung gasps, horrified, as he looks Minhyun up and down.

The taller man blinks, looking confused for a moment. “I mean I don’t _need_ to eat,” he says patiently, and one corner of his mouth quirks up into an almost-smile. “I’m not a person, remember?”

Jisung’s expression collapses into one of exasperated despair. “So you’re telling me we just spent hours trying out this new recipe that we found online, and I’m the only one who’s going to eat it?” In a fit of petulance, he tosses the spatula back into the pan, where it lands with a clatter before bouncing off onto the stove, sending tiny droplets of cream sauce flying.

Minhyun startles slightly, just the faintest twitch of his shoulder, like he wants to step back but managed to curb the impulse at the last moment. The tiny movement makes Jisung feel even worse than he already does, and he breathes out slowly.

“Sorry,” he mutters, picking the spatula up and limping ungracefully over to the sink. “Sorry, I just – I don’t know. Sorry.”

It’s a lie, of course, and they both know it. Jisung has been in a foul mood ever since the day before, when he finally got around to telling Swing his decision to go for the surgery, essentially announcing his retirement from Wanna One at the same time.

Minhyun pads over quietly, tucking his chin over Jisung’s shoulder as the idol scrubs absently at the utensils in the sink. “You’re not paying enough attention to me then,” he declares. “I’ve been in this form for two weeks and you’ve never noticed me not eating?”

Jisung laughs, but the sound is edged with guilt. “I’ve never really thought about it,” he confesses apologetically, drying his hands before reaching up to pat Minhyun on the cheek. Quick as lightning, just before Jisung can pull his hand away, Minhyun turns and gives his palm a peck, his lips soft and very slightly moist despite the brief contact.

It’s all terribly domestic, Jisung thinks, as he sits down to eat his own cooking, with Minhyun beside him, leaning over and staring at Jisung slurping up his noodles like it’s the most fascinating scene he’s ever seen.

Jisung doesn’t know what he’d have done without Minhyun around for company over the past fortnight, but he’s also fairly certain that if Minhyun were a pet fox, he’d probably be diagnosed with separation anxiety. “How do you expect me to watch over you when I can’t even see you?” he’d said, sounding perfectly reasonable, all soft eyes and beseeching pout as he trailed after Jisung from the living room to the kitchen.

Jisung thinks about all the times Mister Fox had sat on his pillow all day, staring at the wall while he went out to train or perform, and gives in, but he absolutely draws the line at letting Minhyun into the bathroom with him when he needs to pee.

But maybe it goes both ways, because Jisung seems to be spending a good amount of time with his face pressed against Minhyun’s chest, in exactly the same way he used to stuff his face against Mister Fox’s soft belly each night, or whenever he felt the stress threatening to catch up with him. There’s something innately comforting about it, just like being tucked up safely in bed, whenever he curls up with Minhyun’s arm slung over his shoulder as he inhales that distinct plushie scent.

“They might still let me sit onstage and perform,” Jisung says out of nowhere, nibbling nervously at the tines of his fork as he stares at the half-empty plate in front of him. “A lot of other groups do that when they have an injured member.”

“Do they?” Minhyun asks politely, noncommittally, because he wouldn’t know, of course.

Jisung stares at him, uncertainty roiling in his gut. “Sometimes,” he allows, but deep down he knows that they won’t. His members might want him there, but for the company it won’t be worth the hassle – maybe if Daniel had been the injured one, or Jihoon. But not for someone like him.

The horrible thought occurs to him that maybe Swing will even suggest that MMO should pull him out of the group all together – for his health, in order to recuperate, naturally. And then whatever they’re earning will only have to be split nine ways, not ten.

The thought makes his head hurt.

Standing, Jisung once again limps his way back over to the sink, this time with his plate in hand. His appetite has disappeared, and frankly his cooking skills still leave much to be desired anyway. He hears Minhyun’s chair scrape across the floor behind him, and then feels the warmth of the other man crowding close to him once more, hanging off him like a particularly needy child.

“Don’t you ever want to go out? Explore, see the world, all that,” Jisung asks, his tone conversational as he rinses his plate, watching the leftover bits of food slide off the porcelain.

He feels Minhyun’s throat vibrate against his shoulder in a thoughtful _mmm_ , before he finally shrugs. “Not really, not if you’re not going to be there. I’m yours after all,” he says simply, and that strikes Jisung as just the slightest bit creepy.

He lets out an awkward laugh, jostling Minhyun a little. “I don’t _own_ you,” Jisung mumbles, turning so that he’s frowning up at the taller man, removing Minhyun’s arms rather firmly from about his waist.

Minhyun’s mouth half-opens, confusion written all over his face as he blinks at Jisung. “Well,” he says at last, with a playful smile, “I’m your watcher, so I suppose that would make _you_ mine. We’re tied together, you know – at least, I’m tied to you. It’s part of the enchantment.”

Jisung nods contemplatively, his eyes searching Minhyun’s bright gaze. “So I can’t, I don’t know, free you or something? Real life doesn’t work like that, huh?”

Minhyun is starting to look increasingly bewildered, and as Jisung watches, the faintest hint of fear begins to trace across his cold features. “Do you not want me anymore?” he asks, stutters almost, his breath hitching right before he says again, plaintively, “I’m _yours_.”

Jisung’s stomach lurches uncomfortably at the sight of how distressed Minhyun is starting to make himself, and he reaches out to grab the other’s hands, setting them gently on his hips once more. Minhyun seems to find the proximity calming, and the hand Jisung places on his back even more so.

“I’m yours,” Minhyun repeats, and Jisung can feel the anxious swell of Minhyun’s breathing against him. “I’m yours, or I’m nothing. If you give me away, I’ll stop – I’ll stop being aware. I’ll be Mister Fox for real, I’ll be Mister Fox _only_.”

“Okay, alright, I get it,” Jisung breathes, his face pressed against Minhyun’s shoulder. “I’m keeping you, okay? There’s nothing to worry about. I just – I thought you might not be happy being cooped up in here with me all the time.”

Minhyun lets out a breathy chuckle, almost a giggle of delight. “I’m happy as long as you’re happy,” he declares, and he begins to press tiny, barely-there kisses from Jisung’s forehead down to the tip of his nose. Jisung turns his head just before Minhyun can reach his mouth, so the kisses trail down his cheek and the curve of his neck instead, stopping only once they reach the collar of his worn t-shirt.

.

.

.

It is the tiniest sliver of sunlight, streaming in through a crack in the curtains and heating up part of his face, that wakes Jisung. With a groan, he rolls over and bumps into Minhyun, who shifts back slightly with a drowsy snuffle. Blinking open grit-encrusted eyes, Jisung lets out a long, loud whine as he stretches his arms above his head, before sitting up and swinging his legs off the side of the bed slowly.

Minhyun's hand latches on to his suddenly from behind, making him jolt with a startled laugh. "Hey," he huffs, turning with a smile. The thin line of light dances on Minhyun's skin now that Jisung is no longer in the way, and his eyes shine very brown as he squints up groggily at Jisung. He looks soft and harmless, with his hair falling sideways across his forehead and sticking up against the pillow, dust motes floating in the air above him in the sunlight.

"Come on," Jisung says with a grin, tugging his hand lightly out of Minhyun's grip. "I have to go make breakfast. I have therapy later."

Minhyun sighs against the pillow. He knows what that means - another half a day without Jisung that he will have to while away on his own, with just a book or a movie for company. He gets out of bed quickly anyway, trailing after Jisung from the bedroom to the bathroom, and then on to the kitchen. Despite the drag to his steps, the glint in his eyes is back by the time Jisung begins to measure out a cup of rice with a narrow-eyed squint.

"Is it cleaning day today?" he asks, leaning a hip against the kitchen counter and staring at Jisung just as intently as the other man is staring at his rice.

Jisung's mouth half-opens for a moment before he turns his gaze on Minhyun. "Cleaning day?" he repeats, confused. "We just did the laundry yesterday."

"Ah, yeah. I suppose we did." Minhyun's face falls in disappointment, and Jisung's brows raise so high that they disappear behind his bangs.

"You can vacuum if you want to though," he suggests slowly, almost disbelievingly, and it's hard to hold back a smile when Minhyun perks up immediately at that statement. "Are you really that bored?"

Minhyun immediately shakes his head, looking almost insulted at the very thought. "I just want to help," he says cheerfully, teeth flashing in a bright smile. "The whole reason I'm here is to cheer you up, and the thought that you won’t have to vacuum cheers you up, doesn’t it?"

Jisung's snorts at how ridiculous Minhyun sounds, but his expression softens anyway, and he loops his free arm about the other’s waist to pat affectionately at his side. "You're cute," he says with a laugh, and he barely even flinches when Minhyun swoops down to kiss him right along the outer corner of his eye, but the rice grains rustle loudly in the cup as his hand jerks reflexively anyway.

Minhyun’s brand of adoration is oddly easy to get used to. It’s almost like having one of the younger members stuck permanently by his side, albeit perhaps a little more eager to help than would be considered normal. As he watches Minhyun hurry off in search of the vacuum, something seems to shake Jisung out of his reverie, and he calls, "Let's watch a movie together when I'm back from therapy tonight. Pick something good, okay?"

"Okay!" Minhyun calls back, his voice already muffled from the walls between them. A moment later, Jisung hears the low growling whir of the vacuum as it starts up.

Jisung's shoulders relax, and he shifts his weight slightly as he stands, smiling to himself while he pours the rice out of the cup in a clattering shower.

.

.

.

“They’re gone,” Jisung calls, in a playful singsong tone as he opens the door to his room. Minhyun barely looks up, fully engaged in the drama currently playing on the tablet that is propped up on his knees. With a grunt, Jisung flops down onto the bed beside him, rolling over so that he can peer at the screen as well.

“So quickly?” Minhyun mutters distractedly, his eyes flickering repeatedly between the tablet and Jisung. He automatically shifts anyway, one of his arms stretching out so that Jisung can wriggle into place and nestle his head comfortably against Minhyun’s shoulder.

“The Tokyo concert is tomorrow,” Jisung says with a yawn. “They were only back for a night, although I have no idea why. They could just have flown straight to Japan.”

Finally putting the tablet down, Minhyun turns to fix an inquisitive gaze on Jisung. “Did you talk to them?” he asks meaningfully, and Jisung’s gaze slides away.

“They were jetlagged,” he mumbles under his breath, and then he pauses for a little too long before sighing, “But yeah, I talked to them. They said they would fight for me to be on stage with them again after the surgery. They’re just _kids_ , Minhyun. They can’t go against a whole company. It’s ridiculous. But they insisted. They said we’re not going to be under Swing for much longer anyway, so they don’t think there’ll be repercussions.”

Jisung swipes the back of his hand angrily over his eyes, and it comes away wet.

“They love you,” Minhyun says gently, and Jisung nods, not quite trusting himself to speak. “ _I_ love you too.” Minhyun’s tone lilts up in a blatant attempt to be adorable, and a loud chuckle bursts out of Jisung.

“I know,” he says patiently, but he’s grinning now as he reaches over to sling an arm over Minhyun’s hip, tugging the taller man into a hug.

Minhyun makes a small, contented noise in his throat. “You feel – better,” he says after a moment. “Happier. You are, aren’t you?”

Jisung cocks his head upwards slightly, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah, I didn’t realise – I’ve been pretty worried, I guess. But I feel better – lighter, I suppose.” He’s put everything in order, so to speak, he thinks wryly – his surgery has been scheduled, and he’s cleared things up with the members. There’s nothing more for him to agonise over.

“I helped, didn’t I?” Minhyun asks, and his tone is so sweetly hopeful that Jisung has to simply close his eyes and smile for a moment.

“Of course you did, you silly. I’d probably still be crying indecisively over the state of my leg if it weren’t for you,” he says with a laugh, “and I would never have gotten any laundry done without your help.”

That last bit is as much a joke as it is the truth, but Jisung sees the prettiest smile bloom on Minhyun’s face in response anyway. He’s not even _human_ , but that rather significant fact is surprisingly hard to remember, and it’s even harder for Jisung to make it matter to him at all.

“I’m glad you’re here. You’re one of the best things that’s happened to me.” The words simply slip out, a thoughtless escape that Jisung doesn’t try all that hard to stop, and Minhyun’s eyes curve even further amidst his delight.

“Well, you’re _the_ best thing that has ever happened to me,” Minhyun counters swiftly, with a grin.

This time, when Minhyun’s lips press closer and closer to his own, Jisung doesn’t turn away.

.

.

.

“Jisung!”

The word is hissed and urgent, but it barely penetrates through the fog of slumber that’s wrapped around his brain. The light shake to his shoulder helps a little, and Jisung grunts, patting blindly behind him to push Minhyun away. It must be ass o’clock in the morning, and he really thinks that Minhyun being a nuisance can wait for a couple more hours.

Unfortunately, Minhyun doesn’t agree, and the shaking continues, a little more vigorously this time. “ _Jisung_ ,” he whispers again, and this time Jisung’s head is marginally clearer, enough to register the odd tone to Minhyun’s voice. He sounds frantic, _scared_.

“What?” he murmurs at last, turning over and squinting through half-closed eyes at Minhyun’s face, visible at this distance even in the dark.

“I think I’m going,” Minhyun whispers, even though they’re still the only people in the entire apartment. He’s calmer now that Jisung is finally awake, his eyes wide as he stares, like he can drink in Jisung’s entire being with the power of his concentration.

Jisung blinks slowly, still groggy from being roused so unceremoniously. “Going where?”

But Minhyun only nuzzles forward against Jisung’s neck with a soft sigh, and Jisung feels the press of his nose before the softness of his lips, sliding up to Jisung’s own. He can’t help making a small noise of protest, his mouth still stale and sticky from sleep, but Minhyun doesn’t seem to care. Half of his chest is pressing heavily down on Jisung, one arm resting against his ribs, but his lower body is angled safely away from Jisung’s injured leg.

Jisung’s eyes slide shut again as Minhyun’s mouth moves against his, once more on the cusp of drowsiness even as his hand finds the hem of Minhyun’s shirt and slides over smooth, bare skin. Minhyun huffs at that, a soft laugh puffing warmly against Jisung’s face as he pulls away.

“You’re happy,” Minhyun murmurs, propping himself up on one elbow as he flicks at an unruly curl of hair on Jisung’s forehead. “You don’t need me anymore.”

Jisung tilts his head, looking up at the faint glimmer of dark eyes, and reaches a hand out, fingers curling securely around Minhyun’s wrist. “Where are you going?” he repeats, uneasily this time.

Minhyun shifts, splaying his fingers across Jisung’s chest. “I’m transforming back,” he says quietly, and Jisung suddenly realises that Minhyun doesn’t sound scared. He sounds _sad_.

His grip tightens involuntarily, his index finger pressing down on the hard nub of Minhyun’s wrist bone. “Don’t,” he says, confused and insistent. “My surgery isn’t until next week.”

“It’s not me – it’s the magic,” Minhyun whispers, more hurriedly now, like he can stave off the inevitable the quieter he is. “I don’t control it, but I can feel it. You have to talk to me, okay? I always liked it when you talked to me. And hug me to sleep. It doesn’t matter if you squish me. I’m yours – I’m only yours. Jisung –”

It feels like there should be some sort of noise – a _poof_ , or a _pop_ , or a violent rush of air to fill the void that Minhyun leaves behind – but there is only a sudden emptiness, and the gentle cotton touch of a stuffed fox tumbling soundlessly off Jisung’s chest, rolling twice over on the blankets before coming to a stop.

_No_ , Jisung thinks, but not a single sound leaves his frozen lips.

Slowly, numbly, he reaches for the fox and tucks it tenderly against the crook of his arm, angling its face towards him instead of at the ceiling. He lies awake till dawn, listening to the suddenly-unfamiliar sound of his own breathing against a backdrop of silence.

* * *

**THREE,**

The roar of the crowd is immense as Jisung slowly stands from his seat. He ducks his head, beaming and embarrassed, as he walks to the small raised platform right beside Sungwoon, with only the faintest unevenness to his step. He might still not be able to dance, but he can do this much at least, for their final concert as ten.

He looks out at the luminescent sea of fans before him, and the enormity of everything they have done and the amount of love they have received hits him with the force of a particularly mean sucker punch. His lashes flutter, a last desperate attempt to keep his tears at bay, but he can already hear the laughter of the other members filtering tinily through his earpiece.

_Brats_ , every single one of them.

For some reason, his mind flashes for a second to Mister Fox, sitting on a plastic chair backstage with his customary, sharp-toothed grin adorning his small face. Jisung hopes that Minhyun can hear this, the desperate screams of the fans as the dulcet notes of their final encore begin to play.

This is the end of their golden era – but with every end comes a new beginning, and Jisung has a tiny flicker of hope that just maybe, Minhyun can be a part of his.

* * *

**EPILOGUE,**

It’s hard to go from living with nine other unruly boys to sharing a dorm with a single Kang Daniel, who more often than not is either out at schedules or just holed up in his room gaming with his unstoppable partner, Jihoon. Jisung, on the other hand, doesn’t have anything planned for the next week, and he’s been thinking of just going home to visit his parents, perhaps even crashing for a few nights in his old room.

“What do you think?” he says out loud, as he scrolls idly through his phone. Mister Fox, seated motionlessly beside him, provides no audible response.

Jisung glances to the side, the corner of his lips quirking up in amusement as he finally picks Mister Fox up and seats the plushie on his stomach.

“You were supposed to stay as long as I needed you to,” he murmurs chidingly, poking at the fox’s round black nose with a finger.

It all worked out in the end though, Jisung supposes. He could hardly have hidden Minhyun in his room for half a year, no matter if he never needed to eat or use the bathroom. But now, with enlistment just around the corner – now Jisung is free to venture outdoors, free to eat whatever catches his fancy, free to meet any friends he’s been waiting to meet.

He stares hard at the large, cunningly angled eyes and says sternly, “Well, I’m saying it now. I need you – well, mostly I miss you, I guess. Does that count as needing emotional support? Does the magic work like that?”

A cool silence greets his words, but something about the plushie’s expression emanates a distinct sense of amusement. Jisung sighs, disgruntled, and reaches over for his phone to reply to his sister’s latest string of texts. It was worth a try anyway, he thinks.

The next second, he has to choke back a sputtering shriek when 181 centimetres of not-quite-human materialises on his lap, probably killing off all sensation in his thighs for the next hour at least.

On his part, Minhyun takes one look at Jisung’s stunned expression and bursts into laughter, that rich, bright sound that Jisung hasn’t even realised he’s missed. It is, quite possibly, the most beautiful sound he’s heard in a while.

“Kiss me,” he says breathlessly, dimples flashing, and Minhyun leans down to do just that.

**Author's Note:**

> To my lovely prompter: this wasn't quite what I envisioned when I picked your prompt, but I hope this wasn't too disappointing!
>
>> Jisung has a big fox plushie he cuddles every night. And at the moment when he needs someone to be by his side the most, it suddenly comes alive.


End file.
